


One Too Many Fridays

by cymyguy



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - College/University, Bad Flirting, Binge Drinking, Drunkenness, First Meetings, M/M, Pining, Sleepovers, very light angst because kageyama is a lonely soul
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-09 20:04:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19483039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cymyguy/pseuds/cymyguy
Summary: Kageyama tries to get a date with the too-cute-to-be-allowed busboy. When he fails, he takes to drinking, and venting to a faceless stranger. But for every Friday night, there's a Saturday morning that he'll eventually have to wake up to.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There is some devastatingly lovely pining Tobio [art](https://mobile.twitter.com/myrseyy/status/1176862209747619840) for this story! Check out @myrseyy on twitter, amazing stuff!

Kageyama’s not one for going out on Friday nights. Really, he’s not.

He’d been on a steady schedule of joining his teammates once every other semester, and this particular once was to take place at some American-style bar and grill that was reserved for students on Fridays. It was always completely packed on student night, and drinks were half price, so Kageyama the homebody was not expecting to enjoy himself all that much. But the food turned out to be fucking delicious. And, that wasn’t the only thing to his liking.

It certainly isn’t the reason he’s kept coming back every Friday, rain or shine, morning practice or late practice, from August into November. He likes food, but not enough to go through this every Friday, even if the place is only a couple blocks from campus, and even if his teammates are pretty okay guys, for the most part.

So why does he come? Why is he on his way there right now, walking alone along the pretty little stretch of tree-lined sidewalk, wearing his nicest jacket? Because, obviously, there’s a cute guy who works there.

He’s never talked to him. He doesn’t know his name, because the guy doesn’t wear a nametag when he comes along with his little cart to clear off the tables and reset them. Kageyama does know that he works every Friday, and, that he has to ask him out on a date. He’s been sure of this for a good two months now, and for the last few weeks he’s been prepared to do it, except some of his teammates kept insisting on coming for food, or else when he got there he saw someone he knew and had to chuck the whole plan out the window until another Friday. He doesn’t want anybody around for this; he doesn’t need to be aggravated before he talks to the guy, it will throw off his game.

Well, he doesn’t have much of a game. He’s never done this before. All the more reason to eliminate every distraction. He walks through the door, stepping around some people going out, and looks.

The guy’s never hard to pick out, despite his being short and always trying to act inconspicuous, like he’s working behind the scenes. Kageyama sees him, and his orange hair, just pushing his cart through the swinging doors into the back. His mouth gets dry for a moment, and he bites his cheek. Then he turns to the hostess, who’s giving him a look, because she’s probably asked him once or twice already about how many are in his party and where he wants to sit.

“Just me,” he says. “I’d like the end seat at the long table, please.”

This is part one of his plan. He _needs_ the right seat.

“I’m sorry, that table is full right now.”

“Okay. I’ll wait.” He takes a few steps back.

“Are you sure? We have open seats for singles, there’s no need to wait around if you’re here to eat—”

“I want that seat, so I’ll wait for it.”

“Um, okay, sure. I’ll let you know when it opens up.”

“Hey, Volleyball-san.”

He turns. Some guys are looking at him from a few booths down. One waves.

“You need a seat? We can make room here.”

He shakes his head, waving them off. It’s just the baseball team, and obviously they don’t know his name, so it’s fine. The plan is still in effect. He leans against the wall next to the door, to wait.

When he’s stood there for over an hour, his admittedly unpracticed patience is wearing thin. How many times has that guy in his seat had his beer refilled? And he’s scrawny, probably not even on a sports team, so why does he think he’s some bigshot for holding his liquor? The hostess is looking at Kageyama more and more warily, and he tries to pull his face back to neutral, because he doesn’t want her to have him sent out, or worse, take him to a different seat.

Well, finally. The guy gets up and walks around the end of the long table. A girl goes with him. Kageyama realizes, as they walk past him to the door and she puts an arm around his waist, and he slips his hand into her back jean pocket, that they are _together_. He takes a deep breath.

“Your seat is free, sir, if you’ll just wait one more minute while it’s cleaned off.”

He nods. Then his eyes snap up, across the room to the seat, and there he is. The orange boy is stacking up the abandoned plates, the glasses, the silverware, and setting them on his cart. He pulls a washcloth out of a bucket, squeezes it, and wipes off the counter. But Kageyama can’t go over there now. He’s supposed to eat first. He can’t talk to him yet.

“Okay, you can go ahead, sir. Please enjoy your evening!”

The guy moves on in his familiar route with the dish cart, and Kageyama slowly lets his eyes fall away, slowly crosses the floor to his seat. He orders one of the pulled pork sandwiches he likes, and just as it’s being served, the guy appears next to him, scurrying between other bodies as the water in his bucket sloshes dangerously. Kageyama looks at his face for a fleeting moment, before the guy turns the corner around him and goes behind, to the back.

Kageyama tries to calm _the fuck_ down by starting on his fries. His back is to the wall just to the left of the kitchen doors, so he has a view of the whole place in front of him; he double checks for any teammates or other familiar faces. Everything’s clear, and his plan is going to work. Except he’s not hungry. But he has to finish his plate, because an empty plate is the setup for the entire rest of the mission! Suddenly his stomach feels unsettled, and all the smells in here are making it worse. He sips on his beer, trying to ease himself into it.

Someone sits next to him.

“Man, I’m freaking starved. Weightlifting with Washijo-sensei is a bitch, don’t ever take it.”

The guy nudges Kageyama, then frowns and turns to look at him.

“Well, maybe you wouldn’t have much trouble with it. But I sure do.” He sighs.

“Hey,” says Kageyama, “Do you want this?”

“Hm?”

He pushes the plate toward him.

“You—want me to have your food?”

“Yes. Please hurry.”

“Huh? Why would you give me your food, you don’t have the money to pay for it or what?”

“No, I just don’t want it anymore.” He nudges the plate again.

“Well, I don’t know if I’m really feeling like pulled pork—”

“Please eat it.” Kageyama looks him in the eye.

“Uh—Okay? Thanks, I guess.”

Kageyama nods and goes back to his beer. He snatches a fry now and then when he’s not satisfied with the guy’s progress, and sneaks glances over his shoulder to the kitchen doors.

Finally he sees them crack open, sees the end of the cart coming through, and he promptly grabs the plate and slides it back to him.

“Hey, uh, that was nice of you,” the guy says. “Would you—Can I get you another beer?”

Kageyama is peering over his neighbor’s back at the top of the orange head, as it slowly approaches. He glances at the guy next to him.

“Sure.”

“You got it. I’ll be right back.”

Kageyama slides the plate to the edge of the table on his right, and sets a crumpled napkin on top of it. He sees movement in his peripheral vision, and slowly, slightly, turns his head. They make eye contact, and the guy gives a bashful, polite smile before quickly looking ahead. Kageyama reaches out and pushes the plate further away from him. The movement catches the guy’s eye, and he looks back at the plate, then fleetingly at Kageyama, then at the plate again. He stops his cart.

Kageyama’s chest is squeezing sickeningly around his thumping heart. The guy reaches for the plate, bowing his head a little as he picks it up. _So_ fucking cute. He sets the plate on his cart, then seems to hesitate a moment, standing between the table and the cart, eyes down. When he starts to step away, Kageyama says:

“Hey.”

He looks up quickly, the panic all over his face making it obvious to Kageyama that that did not come out the way he wanted it to.

“I’m sorry, you weren’t finished!”

He rushes to set the things back on the table, glancing and glancing again at Kageyama. Who, for the moment, can’t seem to get a signal from his brain to his mouth.

“Do you come here often?”

He feels his brain crack in half.

No. NO. HE WORKS HERE, YOU FUCKING MORON HE WORKS HERE WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT—

Wait. He _didn’t_ say that. Kageyama didn’t say that, the guy who works here did. And now he’s smiling. Kageyama can’t look away. Even when the guy starts to show some proper shame, his embarrassment painting his cheeks a terrific pink as he averts his eyes.

Kageyama would be relieved that he’s not the lame one who used that awful line right out of some movie, except he can’t be relieved, because the worker’s blush is _obscene_ , as in it’s forcing him to measure out deep breaths between compulsive swallows.

He should probably say something now.

“You work every Friday night.”

His eyes flicker up, and Kageyama forces himself to meet them.

“Oh, yeah, I do. I love student night!” He smiles. “I get to see famous university people, you know?”

Kageyama scowls. “Famous?” he scoffs.

“Yeah. Like—”

He glances around them, then drops his elbow onto the table in front of Kageyama, resting his chin in his palm and tilting his head to the side. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

“Like sports stars.”

Kageyama is just starting to take in the details of his posture, his position in relation to the table and to himself, when there’s a loud crash somewhere that has the worker scrambling away, turning wildly in every direction. When his eyes come back to Kageyama, he pulls another smile.

“So how do you know I work every Friday?” he says. “Are you here every Friday?”

Shit. Kageyama ducks his head as the heat floods his cheeks. He nods at the table.

“Why do you bother to check if I’m working? Every Friday.”

He can’t answer that. His own plan has been turned on him, and he has no safety measures prepared. This isn’t _right_ , he should be the one talking, he’s been planning this for weeks! He looks up, almost resentfully, but the guy is checking over his shoulder again. He turns and smiles at Kageyama, whose irritation vanishes.

The guy puts his arms back on the table, and Kageyama frantically drops his eyes; he can still tell when he leans in. He looks once and is met with another smile.

“Do you have maps on your phone?”

He frowns. The guy grins.

“Because I keep getting lost in your eyes.”

Kageyama can’t help it, his mouth falls open.

The guy blushes even faster than him. He raises his hand, as if he’s about to smack himself in the face, but then he flings it back down to his side, and attempts to recover.

“Y—You do have really—nice eyes! Almost as nice as mine.”

His good-natured chuckle squeaks down his throat instead of up it, and Kageyama makes the mistake of checking to see if he’s alright. The orange-turned-red boy winks.

Oh gosh. Oh GOSH.

He jumps out of his seat, walloping the cart with his knee as he swims through the crowd, as far as he can get from that end of the restaurant. He throws open the door to the men’s room and launches himself into the nearest stall. It’s locked, and he bangs off it and almost ends up on his ass. He goes into the next one and slams the door behind him.

A while later, which is not sufficient but will have to do because someone’s just threatened to look over the stall to see if he’s passed out, Kageyama comes out. He washes his hands, then steps in the way of the person by the door.

“Hey. Did you see someone with orange hair cleaning tables out there?”

“What? When? Oh shit, your ex or something? I’ll check.”

For a moment Kageyama’s very tempted to break the mirror behind him. The guy opens the door.

“Is he out there?”

“Um, no?”

Kageyama pushes up next to him to scan the floor himself. All clear. He considers for a moment, as the guy slides past him, shooting a scowl that he doesn’t see. Instead of the exit, Kageyama decides to go to the bar.

The baseball team is still here. He and his beer are welcomed into the booth, but he sits down without a word. They have abandoned their drinks and become invested in the game showing on the TV behind Kageyama, so when he’s finished his glass he helps himself to their pitcher.

He doesn’t really like beer, though. So when he sees a couple students doing a shot of something dark, he looks around for the nearest server, and points to one guy’s unfinished glass to help illustrate his request. A minute later he is presented with his own tiny glass. He turns, bringing his knees out of the booth. He takes the drink off the tray, wolfs it, and bangs the glass down, huffing.

“Thank you.”

Some girl at the table next to him is staring.

“Woah. You actually like that stuff?” She turns, then turns back with a glass in her hand. “Do you want mine?”

He takes it, downs it, and bows his head.

“Thank you.”

“Sure.” She giggles.

It’s some kind of wild, fruity mixture, and it fills his face with red, but the burn in his throat is something to think about, at least. He orders another one, and turns a careful eye toward the kitchen doors. They’re motionless.

Kageyama hardly notices when the baseball team leaves, even though he’s asked to stand up so they can scoot out of the booth. Another drink comes for him while he’s finishing their pitcher of beer; he brings it hastily to his lips. Everything’s tasting the same now, so he goes back to the beer, until his tall glass is empty too. He huffs at the bangs in his eyes, and pouts.

“Hey, are you okay?!”

Kageyama assumes it’s someone around him who’s being addressed, and continues to stare into his empty glass.

“Hey. Excuse me. Sir?”

A hand appears in his line of vision, smacking the table a few times.

“Are you okay?”

Kageyama starts a little. Then he looks up slowly, and says, deep and dark and morose:

“No.”

There’s a guy sitting across from him in the booth. He looks like he might be frightened, or, Kageyama thinks it’s safe to assume he is, because most people usually are. He takes a deep breath.

“Do you have any idea what just happened here?”

“Um, well, it looks like either you have a lot of friends, or, you had a _lot_ to drink.”

“I blew it, that’s what happened!”

The guy gets farther away from him.

“It was a disaster! It was like…It was like—throwing six people onto a volleyball court to play against my team, and not one of those six people has ever touched a volleyball! They’ve watched volleyball games, sure, but it turns out that apparently translating their knowledge into physical skill isn’t a thing people can do. It was the worst,” he rails. “It was like when you’re in middle school and trying to jerk off for the first time and you don’t get anywhere and just end up feeling stupider and even more hard.”

Someone laughs. Kageyama looks around for the source, ready to yell. Then the guy across the booth says:

“So, because you got a little embarrassed, it was necessary to drink half your weight in liquor?”

“You have no idea how much I liked that guy!” Kageyama snaps back. “He’s—He’s…He’s so fucking cute.”

“What’s that? Hey, are you always either yelling or grumbling, because that doesn’t really work in public places.”

“He’s cute as hell,” he roars, half rising from the table to look down at his company. “He smiles so much, even though his job is cleaning up after shitty pig-out bastards, and it’s annoying to be reminded every two minutes that I’m gay—” he collapses back into his seat—“But since I can’t help it I’ve looked at his ass and everything, which was just a great idea because he wears these black pants that are, like, softer than jeans, so they _hug_ back there, and he has this little apron thing around his waist—Do you get it now?” he hisses, then drops his forehead into his hand.

It’s quiet across the table, until he finally looks back up. The guy is waving his hand around, scratching or pulling at his hair or something, and the motion is no gift to his spinning head, so he drops his eyes again. The guy says:

“So this guy, he works here? Cleaning up? Like, a busboy?”

“ _Yes_. A _cute_ busboy.”

“Is he—Is he pretty tall?”

“He’s a shrimp.”

“Hey! Ah—I mean—Um—”

“He has orange hair,” Kageyama says. “Why does it have to be orange? And it sticks up everywhere, why does it have to do that?”

He looks across the table for an answer. The person has turned very red, and something about his face looks pinched. Kageyama thinks he must be looking through one of those weird funny mirrors. It pisses him off, and he looks back down.

“Um—” The guy chuckles. “I’m not sure.”

“His eyes are brown.”

Kageyama starts to unstack his shot glasses, one by one, setting them in a neat row. When they’re all lined up, he starts to restack them.

“They’re warm, and happy, and nice. If they were a painting in a museum everyone would go to look at that painting.”

“Wh—What are you even—Who says things like that? Are you studying literature or something?”

Kageyama lunges across the table and lifts him by the collar.

“Don’t you understand? He’s—He’s—”

There is a sharp rapping sound, and Kageyama looks down at the table. There’s a hand, and someone standing there who apparently owns it.

“Hey, buddy, you get a lifetime ban for fighting in here. Wait. Hinata? Is this someone you know, or is he bothering you?”

“Um, no! Everything’s fine! Just—Just playing around.”

Kageyama sits down.

“Well if you’re roughhousing you might wanna take it outside. You could get fired or something.”

“Right. Sorry.”

Kageyama stares at the guy across the table. Hinata.

He’s wearing a black short-sleeved shirt. He’s small. Kageyama has to look down into his face. It’s annoying. The guy’s fidgeting like mad, and that’s annoying too. But right now, maybe Kageyama is actually being the more annoying one.

“You work here?”

“Um—”

“I shouldn’t bother you while you’re working.”

Kageyama stands and tries to bow, but he loses his balance and stumbles, bumping against the table.

“No no, it’s fine, you’re totally fine! I just finished my shift, so it’s all good! You should sit down for a little while longer, maybe your head will clear.”

He feels a tug on his arm, then a churning somewhere in his guts, so he heeds the tug and drops back into the booth.

“So, this guy you like—”

“ _Liked_.”

“He’s a little on the shorter side, you know, maybe for an average tallish guy, but that doesn’t bother you?”

“That’s the worst part,” Kageyama says.

“What? What’s that supposed to mean, you just said—”

“Shut up.” This guy’s a bad listener. Kageyama’s never asked anybody to listen to him before, and the very first time, he gets someone who’s shitty at it. Go figure. “It’s the worst, because I want to do bad things. To all of him.”

“Woah! W—Woah! What?”

Kageyama scowls at the blurred mess in front of him.

“You—You’ve been thinking dirty thoughts about this guy? In public? Where he works?”

“So? Nobody knows.”

“Hey, that’s creepy! You come here to ogle because you have some weird size kink? You don’t even—know his name!”

“Is it a crime to be attracted to someone I like?”

“No, but—How do I know you even like him, aside from how he fits into your kinkiness?”

“I told you I like him.”

“Prove it! What do you like about him, besides the fact that you could—could—um, give it to him good, or whatever…It’s nice that you’re big and strong and all, but that’s not enough of a reason!”

“What do I like about him…”

Kageyama takes a minute to collect his busboy-related thoughts. It’s not that difficult, or wouldn’t be if he were any less drunk; it seems like those are the only thoughts he’s had all night, or maybe a lot of all nights in succession.

“He’s nice.”

“How do you know he’s nice?” the guy says.

“There was a server who got spilled on, so he traded his clean shirt for the dirty one, because people care about what servers look like.”

The guy doesn’t say anything, so Kageyama goes on.

“He has lots of friends.”

“You like him because he has friends?”

“Everyone smiles at him and says hello. Seeing him makes people happy. He’s good at it.”

“At—making people happy?”

He nods. “I like that.”

“Oh.”

“He’s dumb. He messes up and gets yelled at.”

His companion scoffs. “He doesn’t get yelled at.”

“He’s always under everyone’s feet, and he always drops the silverware before he sets the tables with it.”

“I do not—I—do not think that happens more than once in a while.”

“Sometimes he clips his hair back in the front, with little pink clips.”

“How can you tell what color they are?”

“I like him because I thought maybe he’d like me,” Kageyama says. “Most people don’t. But for some reason, I thought he might. Be able to.”

“Hm?”

Kageyama keeps his eyes down.

“I’m sure lots of people like you.”

“I don’t care about other people,” he whines, reaching across the table and grabbing the guy again. “Don’t you understand?”

“Okay, _okay_ , I understand!” He pries at Kageyama’s fists. “Don’t—do that in here, didn’t you hear them say we’ll get kicked out?”

Kageyama slumps back in the booth and scowls at the table.

“It’s pretty late, so we should probably be leaving anyway. You ate, right? So are you ready to go home?”

“I was too nervous to eat.”

“What?” he shrieks. Kageyama pushes at his ringing ear.

“You drank all that alcohol on an empty stomach? Are you an idiot? Geez.” The guy sighs, and Kageyama watches him rub his hand over his face, like Kageyama’s a troublesome toddler or something.

“You better get something to go, then. Do you like chicken wings? Hey, where are you going?”

As soon as his arm is grabbed Kageyama almost loses his balance.

“Hey. You sit back down here while I go get some food, and find your friends. Who did you come with?”

He only shakes his head.

“You’re here alone? Well how are you planning to get home? Do you live in the dorms? Can you call a friend to come and walk you back?”

“I can’t go back,” he says. “Ever.”

“What are you talking about?”

“They don’t want to hit tosses from a guy who can’t even ask someone out. I have to switch to a new university.”

He hears the guy laugh.

“I don’t think that will be necessary. You stay here, okay? I’ll be right back.”

Kageyama fidgets while he’s getting up and walking away. But then he gets very still. Noise buzzes around him, that he isn’t part of, and he feels bad, like how he feels in his dorm room when he knows that outside and next door and downstairs people are doing things together. Then he thinks of the orange-haired boy, and his throat starts to burn again, but not from alcohol.

“I got chicken. You’ll have some, right?”

A styrofoam box is pushed toward him.

“They’re just regular mild ones. You really need to put something in your stomach besides drinks.”

“I don’t feel like eating,” he mumbles.

“But you should. They’re really good wings.”

“I know. Everything here’s good.”

“Oh, so you come for something besides the busboys?”

“One busboy,” he reminds him. The guy is smiling, and something about it warms his neck in a familiar way. But rather than think too hard, he bends over the chicken and starts to fill his stomach.

He gets four or five of them down before he feels like he’s going to burst. Then he rushes to the bathroom, and when he comes out the guy is waiting right there, to ask if he’s okay, even though Kageyama was only peeing. He has the box of chicken in his hand as he leads the way out of the building.

“Are you sure you don’t want to call someone?”

He shakes his head. He’s feeling more and more miserable the more his stomach aches. The guy pushes something into his front and he almost whimpers his protest.

“Please put on your jacket while we wait for the bus. And if you’re going to puke, do that before it gets here.”

“I won’t puke.”

He shoves at him, and the guy snorts, then takes a seat at the stop. Kageyama feels the bench with his hands to ensure its solidity, because his eyes are still being uncooperative. Then he sits down next to his companion.

“I’d be a good boyfriend.”

“Pf. You really think you can be cocky about that right now?”

“I know he’d be a good boyfriend too,” Kageyama says. “We’d go well together.”

He hears a small “Yeah.”

“We’d go on the best dates,” he says. “We would wear cool matching costumes on Halloween.”

The guy laughs. Kageyama isn’t fazed.

“We would always call back, even when we’re mad.”

“Oh. That’s good.”

“If he missed class I’d go to the teacher and get his homework for him. Or if his grandfather died, I’d take him to his family right away. If he asked for dick pics I’d send them, but only when he asked.”

The guy laughs again, and hits his arm. “What is wrong with you?” he giggles.

“I’d be a good boyfriend.” He nods to himself. Then he sighs. “Have people always thought I don’t want that kind of thing? I do want it! I’ve just never dated because I’ve never met someone who it would be worth it to do all that stuff for. But I really—liked that guy.”

He lets his head fall back against the bench.

“So because I was an awkward fucking idiot tonight, did I miss my chance at it?”

A force rams into his gut.

“Don’t talk like that!”

Kageyama sways to the side. His vision clears of some spots, enough for him to make out the garbage can. He flings his arms around it, hauls himself up, and vomits.

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry!”

Once the first round of spasming pain passes, he feels the circle being rubbed into his back. It helps, with the puking and with the despair.

“That was my fault, I’m sorry.”

He throws up a little more, probably the rest of the chicken. The touch leaves him, and the guy says:

“Here’s the bus. Are you going to be okay riding?”

A napkin appears in front of his face. He takes it and wipes his mouth. Then he straightens up.

“You’ll be okay?”

Kageyama looks steadily at him.

“What if we were supposed to get married?”

“Married! Wha—Aren’t you like barely in your twenties?”

“Yeah but people meet their spouse in college all the time!” Kageyama says.

“You shouldn’t be stressing out so much, you’re too young for this kind of anxious thinking!”

He takes Kageyama’s arm and guides him ahead of him onto the bus.

“Just calm down and don’t be so negative.”

They take the very front seats.

“Anyway,” his friend says, after they start moving, “A big, tall, pretty guy like you doesn’t need to worry about dying alone or anything like that. Even if your face is completely _terrifying_ sometimes, and looks like a lost puppy’s the rest of the time.”

“I’m on a team full of tall pretty guys. _He’s_ not the one who blew a chance tonight.”

“Will you stop it? You didn’t blow your chance, okay?”

“Then what did I do?” he mumbles to the floor. He is swaying toward the aisle, though he doesn’t notice. He does notice when his companion loops an arm through his and holds him upright, right at his side.

“What you probably did,” the guy huffs, “Is live through a story that’ll be worthy of your grandkids.”

“You think I’ll have grandkids?”

“Probably.” He is smiling at Kageyama. “You’ll have to discuss it, but it’s definitely likely.”

Kageyama tries to smile. And maybe he succeeds, because he can tell even through this shitty stupor that the guy’s teeth start showing, at the same time as his eyes crinkle at the corners.

Soon his companion stands up to announce that they’re getting off the bus. Kageyama doesn’t ask, doesn’t care where they are, just shuffles into the aisle, and follows the guy onto the sidewalk.

“Feel like puking anymore?” he says.

“No.”

“Okay, then let’s get inside.”

His arm starts to slip away from Kageyama’s then, but Kageyama doesn’t want to let go. It’s dark out here and he’s afraid of tripping, and he liked when they sat on the bus together. He bends his elbow and keeps them stuck together. They keep moving.

The guy lets him through a few doors, until eventually they are in a room with a couch that must be someone’s home. Kageyama leans between the wall and his companion as he slips off his sneakers.

“We’re lucky my roommate isn’t here,” the guy says. “You can have his bed, in case you do throw up.”

“Who’s your roommate?” Kageyama says.

“A big blond dick. You two wouldn’t get along.” He grins. “That’s a compliment, from me. This way.”

He is led to a room crammed with a twin bed, a desk, and a dresser. His friend goes to the dresser.

“This beanpole probably has something that will actually fit you,” he’s saying. “His height will finally be good for something other than pissing me off.”

Kageyama sits down on the bed, rubbing at his eyes.

“Hey, is this okay?”

He looks at the shirt the guy is holding, unable to make out the shape printed on the front.

“I’ll probably have to go through a few drawers to find something not Jurassic related.”

“What’s it for?” Kageyama says.

“Well you should change before going to bed. You smell like the bathroom at Ukai’s.”

“Oh.”

He slowly gets back to his feet, then shrugs out of his jacket, pulls off his t-shirt, and drops his pants.

“Um, h—hey, don’t you want to wait until I leave? I know you’re probably used to the locker room, but—but—Here you go then.”

Clothes are shoved into his arms. He tugs the shirt on first, hearing a snicker as he settles it at his waist.

“He is a real beanpole. Are you even comfortable in that?”

He waves his arms around. It seems stretchy enough. He picks up the athletic shorts, then starts to raise one leg, only to fall off to the side. He drops the shorts and steps to try to correct himself, but he keeps stumbling, until his momentum stops; he blinks, and feels an arm around his waist, and a hand on his opposite arm, until he’s standing upright again. He looks at his friend for a moment, then turns, and goes over to the bed. He sits down, then pulls up the shorts, wiggling them over his briefs as he keeps his butt securely on the mattress. When he looks up, the guy is smiling again, and again, it seems familiar. That’s good, he thinks, since he’s staying at the guy’s house now.

“Do you need to use the bathroom? Brush your teeth or anything? You’re welcome to use my roommate’s toothbrush.” He grins eagerly.

Kageyama shakes his head. He doesn’t have the energy to brush his teeth, but there is a bad taste in his mouth, so he asks:

“Would I be able to have some water?”

“No,” the guy says. “Water is only for people who pay rent.”

He’s smiling, but Kageyama still frowns.

“Oh…”

“I’m just kidding! Don’t get all depressed again, geez. I’ll go get some water, you just settle in right here.”

Kageyama doesn’t move while he’s gone. He brings him a cup of water, and Kageyama chugs it down. He goes back out with the cup, and then Kageyama worms his way up to the pillows. He lays his head down just as his friend comes back into the room, with another cup of water that he sets on the desk.

“There you go. I’ll just be on the other side of the wall, so you can knock if something’s wrong or if you need anything.”

“You’re going to leave me alone now?”

“Um, yes?”

He wanted to close his eyes, but now he scowls instead.

“Why?”

“Um—”

“I’m gross because I puked?”

“No. I mean, yeah, that is gross, but—”

“I’m a loser because I couldn’t talk to that guy?”

“No,” he laughs. Kageyama is confused. “You’re not a loser. Well, not totally. You’re kind of pathetic right now, but I’ll give you a break since your heartache caused you to make a bad decision. The same bad decision over and over again.”

“I’m pathetic?”

He growls it, and glares as best he can with his head hurting so much. The guy stares at him, mouth open.

“So you didn’t want to listen to me,” Kageyama huffs.

“No, I did! I was just joking, I don’t think you’re—”

“You don’t like me.”

“No.” The guy smiles again. He shakes his head. “That’s not it.”

“Then why,” Kageyama says, though he forgot what he’s questioning.

“Well it’s just because—we don’t really know each other and you’re drunk,” the guy says, “So you can’t actually give me permission to be in this room with you. And I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, like if you wake up tomorrow and freak out because I’m—I’m—in the bed with—We just don’t know each other, okay?” His cheeks are red. “It’s not that I don’t like you, but we just can’t both stay in this room tonight. Okay?”

Kageyama buries his frown in the pillow. He sighs, then peeks one eye at him.

“Don’t do that…” the guy mutters. He frowns back at Kageyama, then itches at his neck and shuffles his feet. “Okay, I’ll just—”

He comes to the bed and sits on the edge, by his knees.

“I’ll just sit here until you fall asleep. Then I’ll leave, so you won’t freak out in the morning. I should probably make sure you go to sleep okay, anyway, and that you don’t start sweating really bad or something. Then I’d have to call Ukai, or 119.”

Kageyama lets his eyes fall shut, and moves his arms up under the pillow the way he likes them to be.

“Hey, don’t I even get any thanks for giving you a bed? For taking care of you after your shitty day? Geez.”

The scene from the bar, the only one that is crystal clear in his mind, plays again at top speed, and he grits his teeth against the pillow as he cringes inside.

“I’m pathetic,” he says, not opening his eyes.

“Forget I said that! I was joking, alright?”

Kageyama pushes deeper into the pillow.

“Hey.”

A touch at his elbow. He turns his head just a little.

“If you really liked that guy because of all those things you said about him, do you think he would not like you just because you got a little embarrassed talking to him? If that was really the kind of person he was, you wouldn’t like him anymore anyway, would you?”

Kageyama can see a sliver of him now through his eyelid.

“No,” he says quietly.

“So either way, what happened isn’t the end of the world. Either he’s not that kind of person, and he doesn’t not like you, or he is that kind of person, and you don’t have to like him anymore because he’s stupid and a jerk.”

“I hope he’s not,” Kageyama says. “That kind of person.” He smiles into the pillow. “I don’t think he is. Or I wouldn’t have liked him. And—”

He sighs.

“Fuck, I like him.”

“Yes, I think we’ve established that.” The guy pats his shoulder. “Now go to sleep. I’m sure you’re going to have a big day tomorrow.”


	2. Chapter 2

Kageyama wakes up in a strange place. The first thing that tells him this is the unfamiliar detergent smell lingering on the bedding. Then he peels his eyes open. There’s light coming through the open door; when he turns to look behind him at the shaded window, a throb of pain pinches in his head. He puts his hand there as panic starts to creep into his chest and stomach. Is he injured in some way? How did he get here? He eases himself into a half seated position and checks over his body with one hand. There are a few muscle kinks, but they feel like normal sleep-induced ones. The only real pain is in his head.

Oh _shit_. He remembers that he had a lot of those little dark drinks. At Ukai’s. He remembers why he went there, too, so it definitely was not worth drinking so much if what he has to show for it is a headache and one terrible memory still perfectly intact.

But how did he get _here_? He’s alone in this small room. Squinting into the hall beyond the door, he judges it to be an apartment bedroom rather than a dorm one. This is obviously not his bed, then, so he looks around for some sign of the owner; he sees his own clothes, folded in a stack on top of a dresser. He looks down at himself, only to be surprised by the sight of a green, long-necked dinosaur with a creepy smile on its face. He rubs his hand over his chest, where the shirt is stretched tight, and it squeezes around his arm as he moves. How did he even sleep in this? Maybe he passed out completely.

But then, who helped him get here, to a bed? Nobody he knew was there, so, a stranger helped him? To what end? Who would feel the need to help _him_?

Kageyama hears a noise, and his head snaps toward the door. He pushes the bedding away from him, trying to worm his legs out of the tangle of sheets as he stares watchfully at the doorway. Then somebody is there, peeking warily around the door. A young man, with _orange hair_.

He scrambles, making to leap off the bed, but his foot gets caught, and though he flails his arms mightily in search of purchase, it’s his face that stops his momentum, smacking against the top of the desk. He staggers to his feet, seeing three of the guy as he hurries toward him.

“Oh my gosh! Are you okay?”

Kageyama towers and swells, tightening the t-shirt over his pecks and popping the veins on his arms, transforming into his most intimidating self. The guy squeaks and jumps back.

“How did I get here?” He jabs his finger at him. “How the _hell_ did I get here?”

“Just—hold on a second, you’re bleeding! Your nose! Come to the bathroom and I’ll help you.”

He waves him forward.

“I’m not bleeding!” Kageyama says, covering his nose.

“You are!”

The dull ache suddenly roars into his forehead, and his vision spots over. He stumbles a little as he backs up to the bed and drops onto it.

“Let me go get a washcloth, you stay _right_ there!”

Kageyama definitely considers making a run for it, but he doesn’t think he’d make it to the front door since he can’t fucking see straight. And then, by the time he’s thought the thought, the guy is peeling around the corner and back into the room.

“I don’t have a clean washcloth,” he mumbles, and hands over a bath towel. Kageyama bunches up a corner of the towel and presses it to his face.

As the silence hangs between them Kageyama feels his face getting red; he raises the towel to cover right up to his eyes, and turns his body, pressing his knees up close to the mattress. He eyes the guy as he takes a few steps back.

“So, um, I can explain now,” the busboy says.

Kageyama’s pretty sure he doesn’t want him to. It’s bound to be humiliating, and he’s had enough of that to last the rest of his volleyball career, at least. But with his face shoved into a towel he’s not in the best position to object.

“So—Um, last night, after you—um, went to the bathroom—”

Somehow their eyes meet. Kageyama can’t imagine how unbearably embarrassed he looks, but he doesn’t think the other guy can be too far behind. There’s an overwhelming meekness, or at least that’s what Kageyama thought it was, until the orange-haired guy presses on with his explanation, and none too quietly, if Kageyama’s aching head is any judge.

“After that, I kept working, but I noticed you were still there, and then at the end of my shift you were alone, so…”

He frowns. Alone? No, he’s sure he remembers that there was someone there. He talked to someone last night, who gave him chicken and his jacket.

“—it looked like you were pretty drunk, so I just wanted to make sure you would be okay—”

They rode the bus together. And he said Kageyama was going to have grandkids.

Wait.

“—and it seemed like you just wanted somebody to talk to—”

What has he _done_.

“And it was—nice? Well, I thought so, I guess. I don’t know, you seemed cool, and not like you thought I was the worst person ever.” He shoots Kageyama something like a glare, but since he’s rubbing at his neck and pursing his lips, it loses most of its effect. “You kept being difficult when I said you should call a friend, and you weren’t asking to go home, so I figured the easiest thing would be to just bring you here. Then I would know you were safe for the night. And you really needed to rest, and my place is close to Ukai’s—”

Kageyama decides he’s not going to find a new university. He’s going to find the most remote coastline in Japan and be a fisherman there for the rest of his life.

He jumps up and lunges for his clothes. He sweeps them up, turns and bows.

“Thank you for caring for me.”

He ignores the next onslaught of dizziness and rushes past to the door. But before he can get out of the room, the orange boy _appears_ , leaping into his path. Kageyama jumps back, eyes wide.

“Hey! You are not running from me again. That’s _rude_.”

Kageyama almost bristles; he stiffens instead. As the echo of the words rolls through the air, washing over him again, his shoulders slowly crumble. He doesn’t know where to look. Hinata pushes the towel back toward Kageyama’s face. Then he crosses his arms and pouts at the ceiling.

“Especially since last night you were talking about how you _like_ me. Like, a lot. You said you think I’d be a good boyfriend. And you said you’d get my homework for me, and that we’d go on the best dates, and—” He puts his hand on his hip and scowls up at Kageyama. “You said you really wanted to ask me out. So why _don’t_ you?”

He averts his eyes, shuffling the clothes and towel in his hands.

“I—don’t really remember what I said…”

The busboy huffs like an angry rhino.

“Well you probably don’t remember this either, but you owe me like 4000 yen, because I had to pay your tab. You’re lucky those drinks were half off!”

Kageyama feels his eye twitch. He burrows deep into the towel again, and groans.

“So maybe, if you took me to a movie or something, _and_ bought me food, then we’d be even. You’ll at least pay off a debt, won’t you?”

Kageyama, for all his preparations, freezes up.

This guy isn’t exactly what he expected, but he can’t find any sign that he likes him less than before. But can he really go out with him, after his spectacular series of blunders last night? Why is the busboy even interested in a date at all, does he just want to be paid back? Kageyama’s eyes have strayed, but he brings them back, studying him for some answer. He can’t seem to find the why, but the guy’s growing frustration with his silence definitely tells him something. The busboy opens his mouth, and Kageyama rushes to beat him.

“I—I really don’t remember saying that stuff.”

His face looks like it’s been hit by an unexpected volleyball. Then the mix of jilted and disgusted falls out of his features, and his eyebrows get a high crease in them as he becomes _hurt_. Kageyama waves his hands, dropping his things in the process of trying to stop this terrible progression.

“But—I remember thinking it!” he says. “Like, before last night. Um, probably every Friday night, I thought those things. Every time…I saw you.”

Kageyama is grateful to have his miserable blush mirrored in the orange boy, and more grateful still when the orange boy grumbles out:

“So do you want my number now, or what? Geez.”

Kageyama drops to his knees to access his jacket pocket, pausing for a few seconds as his head throbs. He stands up and holds out his phone. The guy swipes it away, with a little begrudging smile. When he gives it back, Kageyama takes a look.

“Your name’s Hinata.”

“Hinata Shouyou.”

“Hinata,” he tries again. “Would you like to go on a d—date with me, please?”

Hinata snickers once into his hand, but then his smile preoccupies his whole face.

“Sure! I work from 1 until 6, but you can call me right after. Your head will probably be feeling better then, right? I’m guessing you don’t have volleyball today since you drank that much last night.”

“No, I—”

He frowns.

“You—Volleyball? How do you know I—”

“Don’t you remember what I said about sports stars?” Hinata says.

“You…” He squints. “You know who I am? You—knew me?”

Hinata tries to smirk; it grows into another genuine smile.

“Kageyama Tobio.”

Oh, no. He likes hearing his name from Hinata. He likes it very much.

“Number 9, Year 3.”

“Huh?”

“193 centimeters,” says Hinata. “88 kilograms. Hometown, Fukuoka. Position, setter.”

He grins. Kageyama stares.

“What? I’m a big volleyball fan!”

Hinata likes volleyball. Hinata is a _fan_ of his _team_. Hinata Shouyou, the cute busboy he’s liked for months, knew his _name_ , and flirted with him, and gave him his phone number. Kageyama can’t help it when his face turns into one big, leering grin.

Hinata snorts.

“You’re actually going to be cocky about it? You couldn’t even talk to me until you were completely wasted and didn’t recognize me!”

“That was because—because you ruined my plan! I was supposed to be the one to talk to you, and you wouldn’t shut up long enough to let me.”

“Hey! That’s just what happens when I get nervous. I had to say something, you just kept looking at me so I felt like an idiot.”

“ _You_ felt like an idiot?”

“Well, yeah,” he smirks, “But I guess I wasn’t the one who hid in the bathroom. That’s like, so embarrassing.”

Kageyama puffs himself up again. “I know that! Do you want to go on a date or what?”

“Yeah! Take me out on a date!”

Kageyama is about to blush, but Hinata’s wickedest grin yet distracts him.

“By the way,” he says, “I think I’ll count last night as our first date, since I spent so much time and money on you.”

“Wha—You can’t do that.”

“You said you liked me and then we hung out and I paid for food and drinks. It was totally a date.”

“Both people have to agree that it’s the first date,” Kageyama says. “I won’t agree to that!”

“How would you know that’s an actual rule, you’ve never dated!”

“H—How do you know I’ve never dated?”

“You said so!”

“You’re making that up.”

“Nope.” He smiles, pink and smug. “You basically have to date me now, because for one thing you owe me money, and secondly I’ve talked to you while you were drunk, and I know you’re not quiet and cool all the time, and not even that scary.”

Kageyama glares, face blackening like a dangerous storm. Hinata sticks out his tongue, and his next smile is so crooked and soft, so harmlessly curious, that Kageyama can’t help it. He grabs him by the shoulders and pulls him forward.

“I like you. Hinata.”

Hinata blinks, and makes a tiny ‘eck’ sound.

“You’re cute. And nice. And annoying and pretty dumb.”

“Hey!”

“I’m going to call you at 6:01 tonight,” Kageyama says, “So you better be on time.”

He smiles. “Okay.”

They keep standing like this, Hinata a few inches from his chest, until he realizes the orange boy is blushing. Then he blushes, and takes his hands away. Hinata picks up his bundle of clothes for him.

“Uh, here. I’m not holding you hostage anymore, so you’re free to go.”

He reaches for them slowly, glancing down then back up.

“Actually…Um, could I brush my teeth before I leave?”

“Oh. Um—We don’t have any guest toothbrushes, and my roommate is going to be pretty pissed at me already for letting you use the bed. And he’s actually pretty scary when he’s mad, so—”

Kageyama turns and starts down the hall to the bathroom.

“I’ll use yours then.”

“No! Use the green one, his is the green one!”

He comes back in a few minutes, dressed in his own clothes. He starts to pick up the bloody towel, but Hinata takes it from him.

“I’ll just wash that.”

He throws it toward his roommate’s room.

“I’ll let you out,” he says.

He leads him the few feet to the door and opens it as Kageyama bends down to put on his shoes. He steps into the doorway, and Hinata gives a last smile as they are in the space together. Kageyama puts his hands under the busboy’s arms, lifting him to the proper height, and kisses him.

It’s a caress of a kiss, gentle, because his head still hurts like it’s never hurt before, and because Hinata hasn’t moved a centimeter since it started. Then he feels Hinata’s arms settle over his shoulders, and his tiptoes stretch down to rest on the tops of his shoes. He splits their lips to breathe, and Hinata touches at his head, because he is still in his care; fondness surges through Kageyama’s fingers and toes and throbbing head, and he fits his lips closer to Hinata’s. They open at the same time, on one instinct, and Kageyama pushes deep, inhaling the warm morning smell off Hinata’s cheek. He could push further, start a real fire in his belly, and he _wants_ to, but his knees feel weak, and his head’s already spinning, so this is enough for now.

Kageyama lets him go, embarrassed when Hinata backs off his feet and lowers his arms. Hinata doesn’t look mad though, and he doesn’t sound mad when he says:

“Please call me!”

He smacks his hands over his mouth, then turns promptly and bangs his forehead against the door.

“I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

“I will,” Kageyama says. “And I’ll see you tonight.”

Hinata looks over his shoulder and sees him bow. He scrambles around to bow back.

“See you,” he blurts as Kageyama is moving into the hall. Kageyama looks back, a small smile creeping into his cheek.

“Wow! So you _can_ smile when you’re sober.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That you’re grumpy! But that was a nice smile just now, practice that while you’re waiting to call me!”

Hinata shuts the door.

Kageyama has come to the conclusion that bad Fridays are probably worth it, for some really good Saturdays.


End file.
